


Because I Could Not Stop for Death

by jawnlovesjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Drabble, Gen, Suicide, Teenlock, Uni!lock, Unilock, angsty, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnlovesjumpers/pseuds/jawnlovesjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's wrong with Sherlock, but can John save him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because I Could Not Stop for Death

It had all happened so quickly. One moment, John was in the sitting room, minding his own business. He hadn't seen Sherlock all day, but he thought nothing of it; Sherlock had gone days without being seen before, and it wasn't very unusual of him. But today was different. There was an ominous feeling and an odd quiet in the flat. Something was off, but John could not tell what it was. He tried shaking the feeling, but found it impossible. So he decided to search for Sherlock, just to make sure everything was alright. He had a feeling that he was somewhere inside the flat, and he wasn't wrong.

John checked every other room before he made it to the bathroom. The door was shut and the light was on, and he almost sighed with relief when he realised that Sherlock was safe and inside. John lightly knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He waited several seconds, then repeated to action, still to no avail. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

The answer was slow, but sure. "Go away, John," he said, his voice wavering. He sounded almost as if he was in pain. John became worried.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, his voice louder this time. There was no answer. John's stomach twisted into a few knots. Something was obviously not right. "Sherlock, please open the door."

There was no response. John tried the door handle, and found that it was open. He entered the bathroom and found Sherlock sitting in the floor, holding his left wrist in his right hand. John saw blood, and immediately everything was put together in his mind.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed, and hurried over to Sherlock's side, kneeling beside the man. "What happened? Why?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He released his wrist and began staring off into space as if John was not there, the color in his face draining quickly. John began repeating himself ("Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,") as he quickly took the man's arm in his hand and put pressure on the semi-deep cut that was there. His hands were soon covered in blood,but he pushed down hard on the wound, in order to stop the bleeding.

"Sherlock, why?" he tried again, demanding this time. Of course, Sherlock did not answer. He seemed to have already given up. He wanted this, that was obvious. But there was no way John was going to let it happen.

He applied more pressure to Sherlock's wrist, ignoring the fact that blood now permeated his clothes as well.

"Sherlock, this is not the right thing to do," he said frantically, as if it would help. He tried ignoring how upset he was, letting the medical student in him take over. "You know this is not the answer."

With his free hand, John opened the cabinet under the sink and searched for a rag. He found one, and put it to Sherlock's wrist in hope of better stopping the bleeding. The man was still unresponsive, but John didn't care. With his (bloodied) free hand he moved Sherlock's face, forcing him to look at John.

"Listen to me. This isn't what you want."

For some reason, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes at this point. He swallowed hard and tried pushing them back.

"Sherlock, please," he said, his voice quieter and softer this time. He was desperate for the other man to look -to _really_ look- at him. The bleeding had nearly stopped, and the color in Sherlock's face seemed to be slowly regaining itself a bit, although not completely. He finally looked at John, and John released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this work comes from the poem from Emily Dickenson "Because I Could Not Stop for Death." This work is the result of a tumblr drabble I did, entitled "Nurse Me." It's more saving than nursing, but you get the idea. This is supposed to be a teen!lock thing, although it could also be the regular 'verse. Thanks for reading dear!


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